You win

Sofia - top or bottom

I rinse off all the grime, sweat, and dirt from this morning's exhibition game. Of course, winning feels great, but nothing feels better than a cold school locker room shower with uneven water pressure. I can't even lie to myself into enjoying this, but it's better than walking around dirty and gross.

"So, has Westerman got to see that body?" Jordan's voice breaks through the echo of water splashing on tiles. I shut off the water and turn to face her. She's still in her gear, having the luxury of showering at her off-campus house.

"Shut up," I retort, stepping out as she tosses me a towel. To most people, it might seem weird to be completely naked in front of their best friend, let alone a couple of players in the locker room. I'll admit, when I first came to UFN, I was the timid girl changing in the corner, making sure not to accidentally peek. But after a while, you give up, plus I work had enough not to be ashamed of what I got.

"Come on, Sof. You're telling me you haven't slept together?" Her eyes bore into mine, and I shake my head.

"You know I don't do the whole casual hookup thing."

"I know that, but everyone knows Stephan Westerman does." She starts, then her eyes go wide. "Holy shit! This is serious!" I turn away, starting to change into my navy biker shorts and hoodie.

"We're figuring it out," I mumble, glancing over my shoulder to see Jordan freaking out.

"If you're figuring it out, that means there's something to figure out—" she starts, then her voice falters. "What about Peter Marcus?" That question stings.

"Also yet to be figured out," I admit.

"Sofia Delly, the playa," Jordan says with a teasing grin

"I gotta go; I'll see you," I roll my eyes with a laugh.

"Why the rush, Sofia?" Jordan looks at me smugly.

"He's walking me to class," I sigh, admitting.

"Ha! Knew it. Then he's gonna marry you and have your babies..." she continues, and I respond by grabbing my things and offering my middle finger as I walk away.

When I step out, I'm immediately greeted by the sight of Stephan, dressed in a white t-shirt and grey sweatshorts, leaning on the soccer bleachers with an iced coffee in hand.

"About time," he says, making his way over and handing me the drink.

"You know, if you take sips of it, it's not really my drink." I eye him as we walk toward the school.

"And yet you drink it," he gleams, and I pull the drink down from my lips.

"So, I talked to my parents, and they think we're a good idea. My father's words are, you're respectable."

"Great, so now you can march your ass to the Dean's office and get me some funds."

"They want you to come to dinner. My father was adamant."

"No." I stop walking, and Stephan turns to face me.

"Well, I can't march my ass to the Dean if you're not marching your ass to dinner next week."

"I don't know the first thing about you—" I start.

"Yeah, and my dad's an ex-cop," he mumbles, cutting me off.

"You're telling me your dad, an ex-cop, wants to see how we, a fake couple, might I add, interact?" I stare at him firmly, my arms now crossed.

I watch as he thinks for a moment before responding. "Meet me at mine at seven."